


Unexpected Discoveries

by orphan_account



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, Confrontations, Eavesdropping, Hiding, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Secrets, Semi-Public Sex, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:02:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3392747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some more old work. </p><p>The two teams are cohabiting for MvM, mostly to save on housing costs and also as part of some terrible social experiment by the Administrator. Sniper and Spy make the most of an empty living room. Scout makes some bad decisions. Medic joins him in them. </p><p>- - - </p><p>Spy glanced around the room, studying its occupants and feeling eminently proud of his choice of partner. “Considering ze circumstances, mon docteur, ze only option I can propose is ze privilege to ‘ave you replace me in ze fight against ze robots — any time zat I want.”</p><p>"Ja, I can agree to zhat." Medic inclined his head, eyes searching Spy’s smug mask-clad face. "Of course, I can naturally claim zhe same privilege from you, ja?"</p><p>"Oh?" Spy’s eyebrows lifted. “‘Ow much do you zink Soldier would like to know about zhe rendezvous between Monsieur Scout and yourself — open-minded fellow zat ‘e is?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Discoveries

After the advent of the robots, several drastic changes had been instituted among members of RED and BLU. The two teams now cohabited in barracks large enough to house all eighteen ill-tempered and oppositional mercs. While six went out to wage war, uniformly dressed in RED colors for quick identification (and to hide the bloodstains more easily), the remaining twelve held down the fort — repairing their weapons and training for battle, corralling the assortment of wild and domesticated animals that each kept as pets, and asserting their original team’s influence in insidious and subtle ways.

Actually, subtlety had been dispensed with some time ago. The walls in the common room were liberally adorned with a garish and eye-catching mixture of red and blue. One wall had been painted pure red by the overzealous Soldier, only to be carefully painted over in BLU colors by Scout (along with some strongly worded accusations.) Lately, after paint was banned from the premises, the mercs had resorted to more cunning methods; swaths of red and blue fabric were tacked up on the walls, torn-out magazine pages and collages of the respective colors filling spaces wherever they could be found. For the most part, both Medics and Engineers had stayed out of the fray, though Medic had once had no qualms about putting a vial of fresh blood to good use with a paintbrush. (In Medic’s defense, the enemy Demoman had scribbled something highly impolite beneath.)

  
Sniper, too, mostly avoided taking part. Yellow had no place on the wall, according to one of the other mercs, who had mistakenly thought he owned a sharp sense of humor. As Sniper laid back on the sofa (a carefully chosen shade of green plaid, to avoid a boycott from one team or the other) he stretched out his long legs, rifle and other weapons set aside some time ago, and glanced up at the ceiling, a vast expanse of pristine, untouched white. “Odd, ain’t it, that nobody painted there yet?”  
  
"Non." Sniper hadn’t been expecting an answer, but received one anyway, the enemy Spy slinking into his field of view with his jacket unbuttoned and tie undone. His mask was still in place and impeccable, as always, but he looked as though he’d either been in a rush to put on his suit, or been interrupted while taking it off. "Zat would require zem to look above zeir limited fields of vision."

"Spook." Sniper acknowledged the other’s presence with a grunt, hacking and spitting into the palm of his hand, then wiping it on the side of the couch, if only to see the face of revulsion Spy made in response to the disgusting habit. "Nice to see ya. Did ya sneak out of yer turn to fight tha robots again?"

Spy scowled at him, buttoning up his suit with nimble gloved fingers. Small fingers, good at pickpocketing, noted Sniper for not the first time. Maybe that’s where his stuffed koala had gone. Not that Spy would have any reason to want it, other than to stick pins in it like a voodoo doll. Sniper’s conscience flashed back to the voodoo doll he had made of Spy at one point, and he grimaced. Just another in a series of stupid ideas he’d had to impede the enemy Spy. “I do zat no more often zan you, filzhy coward.”

"Oi don’t believe that." It was a halfhearted taunt at best, and Sniper contented himself with reaching out to swat him as Spy passed by, hoping to land a good blow and at least disrupt Spy’s irritating smug composure. "Ain’t like ya do much good against the bots, anyway."

The smack landed on Spy’s waist, prompting a flinch away from the touch and a steely glare over his shoulder. His eyes smoldered beneath dark brows, emphasized by the mask’s contours, and Sniper immediately regretted the action, wondering if he should vacate the couch before a sharp knife found its way to his chest. Spy took no such measures, though, instead sliding a hand up to fix his shirt collar, which rested asymmetrically around his neck. “Your wit is lacking today, bushman. I ‘ad thought we were done with bickering like children.”

Sniper’s gaze flicked almost indiscernibly to the kitchen door — currently ajar, an open avenue for eavesdroppers or anyone who might be indiscreet enough to observe them. “Are we?”

Spy caught the message and stepped out of view, flicking a dial on his watch to cloak himself. He shimmered with the usual holographic sheen, then vanished, depriving any curious eavesdroppers of the privilege to see him. In a few long strides he made his way to the door and nudged it shut, then made the rounds to the remainder of the doors, locking each one from the inside with the precise ease that came from years of training and a life of crime.

Once done, Spy sauntered back towards the resting Sniper, leaning down and plucking the enemy merc’s sunglasses from his face. “Zat’s better.” He smiled inscrutably as Sniper blinked up at the ceiling, eyes adjusting to the bright light. How charming; a sniper who couldn’t see without his glasses. But Sniper swiftly recovered the item, tucking the lenses into his pocket, and dispelled any such suspicions of poor eyesight, claiming Spy as his own with an accurately timed grab for his lapels.

Spy was yanked forward suddenly by the motion, nearly falling face first onto the sofa before Sniper snatched hold of him and lifted Spy to sit astride the Australian’s hips, thin suit-clad body fitting nicely on top of Sniper’s. Eagerly he straddled Sniper’s waist, making full use of the extra-large sofa, and let himself be pulled down and kissed, Sniper’s thin lips pressing against his own with the sort of fervor induced by a week of deprivation. Spy let it happen at his pleasure, wicked smile forming between kisses, until he finally surrendered in full and let his tongue delve into Sniper’s mouth, prompting a mostly unintelligible murmur and a shifting of Sniper’s weight beneath him. They did call it French kissing for a reason.  
  
\- - -  
  
"Fuck, I fuckin’ knew it, just look at ‘em, oh _fuck_ —”

Scout had never intended to see this. Well, not really, it had just sort of _happened,_ but now that it _was_ happening, he wasn’t gonna pass it up. He’d just gone to the kitchen for a can of soda, since there wasn’t any left in Medic’s fridge and he wanted some before he went out training with his new baseball bat, but as soon as he’d heard somebody in the common room he’d decided to stay and wait around a little and see what was happening. If it had just been Sniper he’d have gone to say hello, he and Sniper got along pretty well — Sniper was one of the few who didn’t judge him for having a pet baby squirrel, and they had more in common than you might have thought — but _Spy_ was there too, and Scout wasn’t sure which was worse, the stuck up Spy who’d supposedly slept with Scout’s ma, or the prissy Spy who carried around all those stupid knives and had all kinds of gossip about everybody. Well, they both carried around the knives, but one of them had more of ‘em, Scout thought. He might have been wrong.

But one thing he _wasn’t_ wrong about was his suspicions about the two of them. This one was the prissy Spy, all right, and man, did they look like they’d done this before, moving together with Spy on top of Sniper like he belonged there. It was just kissing so far, but they both looked like they were getting pretty into it, and Scout felt slightly filthy for just watching through the crack of the door that Spy had thankfully forgotten to lock.  
Better not to think about it, and just pay attention for a while. Wasn’t like he’d ever get to see this again, and he wasn’t gonna lie, it _was_ kinda hot; not that he thought about Sniper or Spy that way, that’d be weird, but back home he’d get his ass kicked for even _wantin_ ' to see something like this, let alone actually getting a chance, and Scout wasn't the type to pass up an opportunity.

He took a sip of his soda, and watched, and waited.  
  
\- - -  
  
"Bloody Spoi!" Sniper rose up with a sudden lurch of effort, bracing himself with feet pressed firmly against the other end of the sofa. When stretched out to full length he occupied the entire couch, and now used this to his advantage to try to get Spy off of him, dislodging the suit-clad Frenchman for only a moment as his common sense overtook his base impulses. "We can’t do this in tha common room. An’ what if we get caught? Ya don’t have an invisi-watch for _both_ of us, do ya?”

Spy was not offended enough to take the outburst personally, and climbed right back on top of Sniper, situating himself comfortably and reaching down to lightly massage the marksman’s shoulders. “We won’t be caught, mon cher. I locked ze doors. Ze ozer teammates are all occupied with trivial zings.” With each word he moved closer until he had Sniper locked in another kiss, running his fingers along the line of his lover’s defined jaw. Handsome, if a bit long-faced, but any such flaws Spy could easily overlook. “Just relax. Zis is better zan ze van, isn’t it?” In Spy’s opinion, it smelled better in here, too; the faint lingering aroma of Engineer’s leftover barbecue far outranked the pungent scent of koala. Oh, the things Spy tolerated for love.

Sniper agreed reluctantly, adjusting himself with a pillow underneath his head and hands resting firmly on Spy’s slim waist. He liked the van better, personally. More privacy, and he knew he’d have the place all to himself. Besides, It wasn’t like he let the koala stay in there while he and Spy spent time together. He had standards about that kind of thing. “Take off yer mask, or I’ll do it for ya.”

"I zink I can do it myself." Spy reached for the back of his neck, removing the balaclava mask in one smooth fluid motion and casting it aside onto the nearby table. This revealed first a pale throat and a jaw darkened with stubble, then a shock of black hair with occasional tints of grey, a strong brow and sculpturally shaped face, with fine cheekbones and vivid eyes. The unruly tuft of hair that stuck up near his forehead barely detracted from the full effect; Spy looked good, and he knew it, turning his head to allow Sniper a different angle of view, basking in the attention. "Zere."

"I’ve been waitin’ too long to see ya like this." Sniper’s voice was a mere growl, rough calloused fingers running along Spy’s cheek and jaw before closing around his shoulder. Not enough yet, but they were making progress towards their mutual goal. Nobody was ever going to have much fun with the enemy as Sniper did. "Now take off yer suit."

"So many orders." But Spy obliged at once, wriggling his shoulders to slip out of his suit jacket, revealing a waistcoat and neatly pressed shirt beneath. For good measure he set his revolver and disguise kit aside at the same time, laying them neatly on the table beside his jacket to send a clear message. He had no intention to harm Sniper now, other than the metaphorical sense of _la petite mort._ “Is zat better?”

"Nah." Sniper’s fingers hooked in the waistband of Spy’s pants, sending a clear message. His eyes burned with interest under the brim of his hat, carnivorous smile accentuated by the size of his sharp canines. "Yer not done."

"Non, I am not." Spy sat up, lifting himself up off of Sniper, and unbuckled his belt, sliding his pants down off his hips and then off altogether to lay in an abandoned heap beside the sofa.

Sniper just stared at the sight for a moment, fingers tracing the outline of Spy’s hipbones underneath the thin fabric, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Now that was a sight he didn’t see as often as he’d like. Granted, he hadn’t been with a whole lot of Frenchmen before this, or any, for that matter, so he didn’t really know if this was a custom among ‘em. Maybe. Or maybe it was just Spy being Spy. “Ya filthy spook.”

Spy smirked, accepting the insult as a compliment, and squirmed slightly as Sniper delivered a firm squeeze to his ass. The war of the machines had kept them both busy, but the absence had honed Sniper’s interest to an edge that Spy now relished. “Merci.”  
  
\- - -  
  
"Oh, fuck," breathed Scout. "He’s wearin’ fuckin’ _panties._ ”

Scout had tried to cram himself into one of the cupboards, to better avoid detection if anyone caught him spying on Sniper and Spy, but all he’d done was get himself a horrible crick in his neck so he’d crawled out again and was lying flat on the floor now, staring through the crack in the door like his life depended on it. He muttered commentary to himself occasionally, balling his hands into fists as an outlet for his pent up energy. Shouldn’t be feelin’ this way about this crap, but he did, and he was too caught up in the moment to doubt himself. “Of fuckin’ _course_ he likes it. Goddamn Spy. Course he wears ‘em, prissy little backstabbin’ moron—”

He stole another look.

"—fuckin’ pastel blue or whatever they are to match his goddamn suit, oh _shit_ he’s takin’ ‘em off—”

No way out now. Scout squirmed uncomfortably and continued to watch, hating himself on some level for even _wanting_ to watch, but shit, no way to back out now. He’d forgotten to remind Engie to put oil in the hinges of the goddamn door, so if he tried to leave it’d squeak and Spy would know he was there, and that was the fastest way to get himself stabbed ten times in a minute.

And he couldn’t leave when he had a raging hard-on, either. That would just be fuckin’ _awkward._  
  
\- - -  
  
Sniper only pulled the panties down so far, just enough to expose Spy in all of his glory. Rough fingers rubbed along his length and Spy threw his head back and moaned, arching his hips into the touch and rutting against the surface of Sniper’s palm until he could barely stand the friction and sweat dripped down the curve of his spine. As well as his waistcoat and shirt, he’d left his socks on, neatly tailored with garters that kept the socks at knee length, and Sniper resisted the urge to rip all these items off of him.

"What do ya want, Spook?" Nothing more than a low growl, tinged with the usual Australian accent, but for some reason it sent Spy into a fit of eager thrusting until he’d worn himself out for that moment and paused to gather his wits and draw breath. "Ya want ta fuck yerself on me, want me to take ya until ya can’t bleedin’ _walk_ — teach ya a lesson, make ya pay for stabbin’ me all those times?”

Spy mustered a relatively coherent response. “You ‘ave— impaled me enough times— zat once more makes little difference, zhough zis is a better sort zan ze kukri, I zink… ah, oh _Sniiiper._ " He gave into the rough stroking again, gasping and bucking his hips. Spending days killing each other and nights romancing each other had given them both an intimate knowledge of each other’s wants and needs. "Mon amour… ‘Ave you got ze lubricant?"

“‘Course I do.” Sniper reached into his pocket, withdrew a small jar, then unzipped his pants and pushed them down, revealing nothing underneath but bare skin. Spy eyed the sight eagerly and took the jar from him, slathering the slippery substance along Sniper’s rigid shaft, then dipping his fingers in it and applying a bit to himself. They’d done this often enough that it was routine, but after a rather painful experience they’d learned the importance of lubricant and Sniper’s size combined with Spy’s tightness made it a necessity.

"Merci." Spy set the jar aside, steadied himself with gloved hands on either side of his lover’s waist, then lowered himself onto Sniper’s cock, letting out a whine of pleasure as he adjusted to the sensation of being filled. He rolled his hips tentatively a few times, one leg sliding over the side of the couch to balance himself with one foot on the floor, while Sniper grasped Spy’s waist and began to fuck him in a slow easy rhythm, watching his face for the little gasps and occasional lip bites and the expression of bliss that entered Spy’s eyes whenever Sniper hit the right spot.  
  
\- - -  
  
"I’m goin’ ta hell."

That was one of the many conclusions that Scout reached after staring at the pair for five solid minutes, mouth agape and eyes wide with one hand busy down his pants. Not only did this answer a hell of a lot of questions he’d had about how the sex was done, but god, it was hot, watchin’ the two of them together and, fuck, he really needed to stop before somethin’ bad happened.

Somethin’ like footsteps echoing behind him, and a decisive, German-accented whisper of “No, you are not.”

 _"Fuck!"_ Scout scrambled in instant panic, sitting up and staring at Medic — his own team’s Medic, thank god, he could tell from the way the doc was looking at him with poorly hidden amusement rather than the condemning stare he received from the other doc. Didn’t make it any better, though, and he definitely caught the flick of Medic’s gaze downward to the bulge in Scout’s pants before Medic looked back up and met his eyes again, gazing at him over the rims of his glasses.

Scout had nothing to say. He just stuttered, glanced at the tiny gap between the door and the frame, and looked back at Medic. “It’s Spy. And Sniper. And they’re screwin’ on the couch.”

So much for subtlety. Medic’s eyes widened slightly and he advanced towards Scout — he’d left one of his saws on the countertop, but made no move to reach for it, not even when Scout flinched away in anticipated pain — then backtracked to the other kitchen door and securely locked it, sliding the small latch with a satisfying click.

Fuck, why hadn’t Scout thought of that?

It was too late to worry now, and Medic was locked in the kitchen with him, and for some reason this made Scout’s hard-on worse rather than better. Wasn’t like he’d never thought about Medic that way, stolen a few glances in the shower and observed that Medic had a nice ass, but that didn’t make him queer, did it? No way. Medic just had a nice ass. Plain and simple. It was a _fact._

"Are zhey?" Medic ignored the strange expression on Scout’s face and knelt near the crack in the door, peering through to get a glimpse of the situation. Then he sat back, resting against one of the cabinets with his arms folded, pondering what he’d seen. "Very interesting. I did not suspect zhat zhey vould be so bold." He observed for several moments more — intriguing techniques, yes; Medic would have to commit a few of those to memory— then abruptly turned towards Scout. "Scout, vhy vere you—"

 _"Hey,_ don’t get the wrong idea, doc. I— I ain’t watchin’ dem because I’m queer. I ain’t queer.” Scout suddenly blurted out, frantic to defend himself and his actions. He scrambled away from Medic, back pressed against the opposite wall as he drew himself up into the corner. “Fuck, doc, ya gotta believe me. I ain’t. I’m just curious. Wanted ta— wanted ta see what was happenin’ with dem, wanted ta know… fuck, _please._ " All of Scout’s fears rose to the surface under Medic’s cool stare, like a tank of ice water had been dumped on top of him and he was one wrong move away from drowning. "Please, doc."

"Vhy should I care if you are? I don’t." Medic tilted his head to the side slightly, occasionally stealing glances back through the crack in the door. He carried an air of practiced nonchalance, solemn calmness reflected in the sharp angles of his face. "Hm, I vould not have expected such stamina from eizher one of zhem… Fascinating."

Scout processed this for a moment, a fraction of his lost composure returning to him. No way. So Medic wasn’t gonna skin him alive for this after all. Well, maybe he was and he was just pretending he wouldn’t, Scout wasn’t safe yet. So he inched back into the corner, just to be on the careful side. “Ya don’t what?”

"I don’t care if you’re qveer, Scout." The conversation was still conducted in hushed whispers to avoid discovery, but Medic managed to impart a fair amount of sternness into his tone, addressing Scout directly but moving no closer. For such a meaningful admission, he kept his voice surprisingly steady. "If your reasons to be interested are vhat I suspect zhey are, zhen all zhe better."

In retrospect, he had not quite meant to say that.

"—‘All the better’?" Scout blinked at him, a tangled mess of emotion. Fuck, what was happening here? First he was insisting he wasn’t queer, then he was on the brink of admitting that he kinda sorta _was._ But he wasn’t. Definitely wasn’t. “What da hell, doc?”

Medic sighed, contemplated, and decided that the only way to extricate himself from this hole was to dig his way to the exit, consequences included. He felt his life and career flashing before his eyes. “If you belong to a— a certain persuasion, zhen it vould be hypocritical of me to judge you.”

"Hippa-kritical— huh, doc? Ya mean it’d be—"

And all at once, comprehension struck, and Scout breathed in, drawing himself up with wide eyes.

 _"Ohhhh._ Oh fuck, doc, oh.”

Medic froze, a sinking feeling flooding through him.

"I get it." Scout inched closer, tentatively reaching out to place a hand on Medic’s shoulder, then withdrawing it at the last minute. God damn, the doc had courage. The dumb kind of courage, naturally, ‘cause back home, admitting somethin’ like that would get your head bashed in. But it was still impressive, especially considering that it was just the two of them in here and Scout had been raised around the kind of guys that would do the head-bashing. It was a miracle he hadn’t turned out that way himself, mostly. He bashed heads as a job, not for some stupid-ass reason like somebody likin’ guys. "You’re— …you’re queer, doc."

"Ja." Medic’s tone was numb and emotionless. Of all the ways he would have liked to admit it, crouching beside the cupboard in a dimly lit kitchen while trying to comfort the obviously confused Scout was not at the top of his list. Especially not since the sounds of Spy and Sniper’s lovemaking was currently carrying over into the kitchen, wails of pleasure and all, and the situation was causing an uncomfortable pressure to form in Medic’s pants. Though that might have been from observing Scout himself; he was no longer certain. His eyes narrowed, fixing Scout in the crosshairs of a downright terrifying stare. Did Scout understand the risk Medic had taken? Probably, but the faint glint of wonder in the young runner’s eyes set Medic’s teeth on edge. He was not a specimen to be examined or a case to be lamented. He had his preferences; that was all. "Tell anyone, and I vill disembowel you vith zhe sharpest saw I have."

"Don’t worry, doc, I ain’t gonna tell anyone. I swear." Despite this threat, Scout worked up the courage to actually touch the doctor, sliding closer across the floor once Medic had noticeably relaxed and that scary look had left his eyes. Truth be told, his erection was now caused more by the memory of Medic’s ass in the shower than the events happening in the other room. "I mean— I ain’t queer, hell no, but— hey, doc, is dere such a thing as bein’ queer just durin’ war? ‘Cause if dere is, den…" He inhaled shakily. "Den I think I got dat."

It was a bold admission, reflected by the hesitation in Scout’s eyes and voice, but Medic responded with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder, reassuring and comforting the young merc as best he could.  ”Ja, zhere is.” It was often connected to repressed homosexuality, as far as Medic had found, but he decided not to elaborate any further. Better not to upset Scout any further than Scout had already upset himself. “Und zhere is nozhing wrong vith it.”

"Oh. Thank fuckin’ _god.”_ Scout collapsed into Medic’s arms without asking for permission, getting as comfortable as he could on the hard tile floor. Sure, he was still having the same problem as before, but if Medic was queer, and if it wasn’t queer during war anyway, then it didn’t count, right?  
Right.

"Ya sure?"

"I am very sure." Medic found himself wrapping strong arms around Scout’s waist, gathering the limber young merc into a careful sort of embrace. Whether this was to keep him silent in the current situation or to comfort one (or both) of them, Medic was no longer certain. The sounds from the other room were growing even louder than before, Sniper’s rough low voice contrasting with occasional yelps from Spy, and Medic silently thanked the first few available gods for the fact that the other team members had gone into town for the day. "Vhat _vere_ you doing here? Ozher zhan zhe obvious.”

"Just wanted some soda, doc, I swear." Scout settled in, head resting on Medic’s shoulder, then became acutely aware of the situation again and wrenched himself away, retreating to the opposite corner before he embarrassed himself any further. A few more minutes of this and he’d start letting Medic know he was interested in all the ways he’d been unsuccessfully trying to hide. "By the time I figured out what was happenin’ it was too late to leave, and— oh, doc, can ya— can ya turn around an’ not look for a little while? I’ve gotta—" Scout stuttered and glared at Medic, a faint crimson flush rising to his cheeks and jaw set in a firm defiant line. "Don’t want ya lookin’ if you’re queer."

Medic wilted in embarrassment and moved back out of Scout’s reach, attempting not to let his dismay show on his face. Just when he’d thought he’d made a slight bit of progress, if only to help Scout accept himself and his particular inclinations. It was less a matter of personal interest than the duty of a doctor and teammate, Medic reminded himself. He drew himself up to his full height and made his way towards the opposite door. “Fine.”

Scout felt instantaneous regret. “Aw shit, doc, come back, I didn’t mean it like that— I mean, hell, I’m— fuck. Ya can stay, just don’t look real close, or somethin’—” Scout’s need had gone unattended too long, and he shut himself up before he babbled anything else incomprehensible or dumb. He shed his pants, pulling down his boxer shorts too, and began to rub himself with quick imprecise strokes, moaning softly with each one. “Fuuuck, doc… Bet ya wish I was thinkin’ a’ you.”

This did not help Medic in the least. He settled down cross-legged on the floor, a safe distance from Scout just in case, and shut his eyes, one gloved hand resting between his legs. It was unfair to tease him with such suggestions. “Vhy do you say zhat?”

Emboldened by Medic’s reaction and spurred on by his own vain bravery, Scout glanced over at his shoulder at him, biting his lip in a way that was certainly meant to be provocative, even if he did not quite achieve this goal. His imagination was filled with thoughts of Medic on the battlefield, all hot and grimy after a long day — Medic in the shower, naked and dripping wet — Medic in any potential context that was hot enough to be worth imagining, and Scout had plenty in mind.

He fidgeted and worked up his courage to admit this.

"Well, doc— …’cause I _am.”_

All thoughts of Sniper and Spy in the other room were instantly forgotten, wiped out by this tantalizing admission and the alluring presence of Scout, so close Medic could feel his body heat and hear his sharp intake of breath with each stroke. So Scout was finally feeling confident enough in himself to admit his interest. Medic had suspected for some time now, but never had any conclusive proof — just how Scout sprang to his aid so often on and off the battlefield, the way he came to visit Medic in off hours (usually bringing a token of affection, either food or something from the day’s battle), the fascinated glances Scout gave him sometimes when he thought Medic wasn’t looking. Medic inched closer, narrowing his eyes, and laid a gentle hand on Scout’s shoulder, the other hand coming to rest on the young runner’s waist. “May I?”

"Yeah, sure." Scout considered for a second, then made a decision, fully aware of the potential rewards. "If it ain’t queer when it’s war, then there ain’t no harm in— _oh.”_ As Scout settled back into Medic’s arms, the doctor’s other gloved hand found its way up under his shirt, gently feeling around his abdomen and down to his inner thigh while carefully skirting around the most sensitive area. Scout’s impulses overrode his conscience and he squirmed with pleasure, a torrent of words escaping him again as soon as he opened his mouth. “Fuck, c’mon, doc. If you wanna do dis, ya gotta go all the way. Can’t leave me hangin’ like dis.”

"I zhought zhat vould be too forward." Medic murmured in his ear, placing light kisses along the tender skin of Scout’s neck. He didn’t dare touch Scout’s exposed need yet, letting the other man attend to that himself if he wished, but when Scout grabbed hold of Medic’s wrist and moved his hand down to the right area, it was all he could do to oblige, tugging his own glove off with his teeth and then stroking Scout’s throbbing shaft with newly bare fingers. Scout bit back the urge to make a noise in response, because men didn’t do that, unless those men were Spy or somethin’; but then again, men didn’t usually get jerked off by their hot doctors while hiding in a kitchen, either, and it was all he could to do to silence a moan, trembling with excitement in Medic’s arms.

Scout bucked his hips up again and again, working out a smooth rhythm between Medic’s hand and his own cock, sleek muscles rippling in his arms and torso. As Scout shifted his weight he could feel Medic’s own erection, large and solid, pressing against Scout’s ass through those fancy German trousers of his. Scout squirmed a little more to get a better feel of it, only relaxing once he felt Medic tense up and moan softly into his ear. “See, there y’go, doc. Feels good.”

"I didn’t say zhat it didn’t." Medic’s jaw was set in a determined line, though one hand slid down to unzip his pants, freeing himself from the tight constraint of cloth. Once his erection was exposed, Scout reached back to touch it, slim fingers kneading along its length. "Aw yeah, doc, you’re fuckin’ fantastic, you know dat? Nobody else gonna get dis from their doctah. God, you’re too fuckin’ hot." Scout turned himself around in Medic’s lap abruptly, facing him to get a better view. Before Medic could protest he grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him, laughing under his breath when Medic’s eyes widened in surprise. "Dat’s better, don’t ya think? If we’re gonna be queer we’re gonna do it right."

Medic barely had the motivation to protest this logic, instead muttering something in German that was not fit for translation. “Ach, fine… come here.” He pulled Scout closer, hands on his waist, and returned the eager kisses, ignoring the overly sweet flavor imparted by Scout’s favorite soda. “I zhink ve are doing qvite vell already.”  
  
\- - -  
  
Back in the main room, a pile of red and blue clothing littered the floor by the much-abused old sofa, which itself now housed a lanky and blissfully contented Sniper and an exhausted, equally delighted Spy. In his usual fashion Spy had put his mask back on, and now only wore his socks and panties, while Sniper had not bothered to clothe himself at all. They had cleaned up the mess completely, thanks to an abundant supply of paper towels and washcloths, and were now recovering until they could exit the room and present the usual false impression of wanting nothing to do with each other.

The muted noises from the kitchen caught Spy’s attention first, a faint rustling and murmur that he would have attributed to wayward pet animals, except for the fact that each creature had been transferred to an enclosure in the yard at Miss Pauling’s orders. “Did you ‘ear zat?”

Sniper stirred lazily, opening one eye and glancing around him. “What? Oi don’t hear a thing.” He shut his eyes again and laid back comfortably. “Yer hearin’ things, spook.”

"Zat noise." Spy was not content to let the matter go. He sat up and glanced around him, verifying that each door had been locked in turn. Including the kitchen. Especially the kitchen—

"—oh, _merde.”_ Spy reached for his knife, withdrawing it from his pile of weapons on the coffee table, and rose to his feet, padding along the carpeted floor to the kitchen door, which was slightly ajar. Now nothing but total silence reigned from within; when he opened the door to give the kitchen a cursory glance, he found no occupants, just a pile of dirty dishes in the sink that he made a mental note to nag Soldier about.

After a slightly more thorough examination, which yielded no further results, Spy slammed the door behind him and retreated back to the sofa, laying down on top of Sniper again. The Australian was comfortable enough, if a bit too bony to make a good pillow in Spy’s opinion, but Sniper grunted in satisfaction and wrapped his arms around Spy, silencing him before any complaints could escape him. “See, Oi told ya there ain’t anythin’ wrong.”

"I do not know zat for sure." Spy granted Sniper a kiss nonetheless, flicking his tongue over his lower lip. He was uncooperative and ill-tempted, certainly, but Sniper appealed to Spy in ways he couldn’t directly identify, and his reluctance made him even more of a temptation and a challenge. "Stay ‘ere with me for a little while."

"Wasn’t goin’ anywhere, Spoi." Sniper pulled his hat down over his eyes, then leaned down to retrieve his pants, preserving some semblance of modesty. "Get off a’ me for a minute."

Offended, Spy climbed off just long enough to let Sniper get dressed, long legs disappearing into trousers that probably hadn’t been properly washed since the turn of the decade. Sniper made a halfhearted effort to button his shirt, then stopped partway and laid back down again, stretching out with his legs draped over the armrest of the sofa. One hand idly beckoned for Spy to return. “C’mere.”

Spy had spent the time buttoning up his own shirt and pulling the waistcoat on over it, and when he resumed his seat on the sofa, he occupied the only corner of the space that did not contain Sniper. Seeing an opportunity, Sniper rested his head in Spy’s lap, while Spy fidgeted with the crocodile teeth freshly affixed to the crown of Sniper’s dilapidated hat. “Zis is new.”

"Li’l Snaggletooth got big enough ta skin. Had ta kill ‘er before she took someone’s head off." Sniper grinned up at him. "Like yers. Hate to see ya go through Respawn for no reason, ‘specially if a croc made a snack outta ya."

"Oui, I zink I would not enjoy zat." Well, that explained where the Engineer had gotten the meat for yesterday’s barbecue. Spy abruptly put the thought out of his mind and rested against the back of the sofa, taking hold of Sniper’s hand when he finally reached for him. "Ze next time zat you adopt any carnivorous pets, please tell me. Zey may be of some use on ze battlefield."

Sniper glanced up at him. “Oi found a snake yesterday, ya can have ‘im. Might help ya poison your knife, assumin’ ya can extract the venom without dyin’.”

"Poison does nozing against robots." Spy cast a quick furtive glance around the room. "But zank you for ze offer, mon cher. I can zink of some mercenaries I might like to use it on."  
  
\- - -  
  
"Doc, let go a’ me, please doc, it’s gonna be fine."

"Nein, he is still out zhere."

"Doc, I can’t _breathe._ We ain’t gonna stay in dis cabinet the whole time, or else I’m gonna pass out and den dat’s not gonna be any fun for either a’ us.”

"Ach, _fine—_ " Medic let go of Scout and carefully pushed open the cabinet door, extricating them both from the space where he’d concealed himself as soon as he heard Spy approach. Thankfully the pantry had been mostly empty ever since last week, when Miss Pauling discovered Soldier’s large stash of canned goods (preparation for the apocalypse, he claimed) and hauled them en masse to the local food kitchen for donations in a vain attempt to redeem the reputation of RED and BLU within the Teufort community. The absence of the cans left room for Scout and Medic to conceal themselves within the pantry, evading discovery by Spy, but it was a less than suitable place for lovemaking. When both were on the brink of climax, remaining cooped up in a dark confined space was sheer agony.

Scout tumbled out of the cabinet first and landed on the hard floor, wincing for an instant and then dragging Medic down on top of him. At once they settled into the same eager rhythm as before, interrupting the frantic pace of mutual touching with occasional thrusts to relieve the pressure they both felt. Bare skin slid against exposed flesh as the two mercs spent their frustration on each other, Medic lying prone on the cool tile with his legs spread and his pants pulled down just far enough, Scout atop him and hanging on for dear life and biting his lip to keep quiet as he rubbed against him with quick forceful thrusts.

It wasn’t long before they both lost control. Scout came first, spilling onto Medic’s bare stomach with a moan of satisfaction, then Medic followed suit and contributed to the mess, all self consciousness long gone. Scout was mostly quiet now — frequent practice on himself had helped him learn to keep silent — but Medic howled in German, eyes squeezed shut and hands clutching at Scout’s waist, and Scout frantically kissed him to shut him up. “Doc, doc, no, someone’s gonna hear us—”

"I— I locked zhe door." Medic was still for some time afterwards, flat on the floor with his hair falling in damp strands across his forehead, and by some miracle his glasses still sat unbroken on the bridge of his nose. Scout finally clambered to his feet, legs shaky from the experience, and mustered the presence of mind to clean both of them up with a damp dish towel, which he threw away afterwards. But he didn’t bother to get dressed again or to help Medic do the same, because there was nothing — _nothing_ — that Scout wanted to see right now more than Medic lying there, exhausted and satisfied and half naked in the best kind of way, and to know that _he_ was responsible for that.

Fuck yeah.

Scout leaned over and kissed him again, more a sweet exchange of affection now than an attempt to silence Medic, and leaned over him, arms enclosing Medic’s waist and pulling him up weakly. “Dat was great, doc. You’re fuckin’ amazin’, you know dat? Yeah.” Scout squeezed him gently, a subtle endearing gesture towards the doctor. “You’re da best.”

"Is ‘e?" A nasal French-accented voice cut through Scout’s reverie, loud and clear from the open doorway. "Zank you, Scout, I am always glad to have more information about my teammates."

Scout froze, perched on top of Medic. _"Fuckin’ hell."_

"Are you ‘aving fun, gentlemen?" Spy advanced into the room, clearly not waiting for an answer. To add insult to injury he was still clad in his panties, trousers conspicuously missing from the rest of his outfit; he presented the illusion of carelessness, not regretting the fact that he’d been seen by the errant pair on the floor. He held a cigarette loosely between two fingers, and took a leisurely drag from it, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. As Scout frantically scrambled to put on his undershorts, and Medic sat up and wrapped his labcoat around himself with a cold stare, Spy just laughed, a light cackle marred by the occasional snort. "Turnabout is fair play, is it not?"

Medic had the presence of mind to lunge for his saw, holding the rusty knife to Spy’s throat as soon as he got within range. “Shall I engrave anozher mark on zhe blade to signify your death, Spy? Or vill you choose to forget zhis incident?”

"Wouldn’t do that if Oi were you, doctor." In the time it had taken Medic to snatch up his saw, Sniper had advanced into the room and was now pressing the sharp edge of his kukri against Scout’s neck, prompting a yelp of fright from Scout and a quick scramble towards safety. "Seems pretty unwoise."

Once sequestered in the corner, far from the blade, Scout gathered his wits and his pants, zipping them up and buckling his belt quickly but clumsily. “What da hell, Snipes?”

"Not gonna hurt ya, mate, just tryin’ ta get some leverage." Sniper gestured towards the stalemate between Spy and Medic. Spy was still struggling against the blade, butterfly knife clutched in one hand and flailing it uselessly towards Medic. "Let ‘im go, doctor."

With gritted teeth, Medic slowly released Spy. The Frenchman sprang backwards, panting for air and rubbing his throat with a wince of pain, but within a minute he had regained his composure, gloved hands set on his hips and an expression of supreme confidence slowly spreading across his face. “Let us be reasonable ‘ere, monsieur. You ‘ave incriminating knowledge about myself and Sniper. I ‘ave ze same knowledge about you and Scout. We are in quite a situation, non?”

Medic gave a slight nod of agreement. There would be a way out of this yet, a method to circumvent Spy’s pathetic blackmailing attempts. He was certain of it. “Ja.”

Spy glanced around the room, studying its occupants and feeling eminently proud of his choice of partner. “Considering ze circumstances, mon docteur, ze only option I can propose is ze privilege to ‘ave you replace me in ze fight against ze robots — any time zat I want.”

"Ja, I can agree to zhat." Medic inclined his head, eyes searching Spy’s smug mask-clad face. "Of course, I can naturally claim zhe same privilege from you, ja?"

"Oh?" Spy’s eyebrows lifted. “‘Ow much do you zink Soldier would like to know about zhe rendezvous between Monsieur Scout and yourself — open-minded fellow zat ‘e is?"

"Let me zhink, Spy." Medic folded his arms across his chest, a sense of sheer defiance obvious in his motions and in the glint of the sharpened saw hanging from his belt. "How much do you zhink zhe Administrator vould like to know about you and Sniper, considering zhat unprofessional relationships betveen zhe factions are entirely verboten?"

Spy faltered. “You make a fair point.”

"I zhought so." Medic adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose, continuing to stare down Spy until the other retreated a step. "It benefits us both to be silent about zhis."

"Spook." Sniper interrupted the bickering pair to hand Spy’s pinstriped suit pants back to him, so Spy could appear decent before any more time elapsed, and also so Scout would stop impolitely staring. "Put yer trousers on."

Spy did so, stepping into them smoothly and gracefully. “Merci.” He had very few qualms about appearing like this in front of the others now, considering all that had transpired, but it was a bit chilly in the kitchen and he couldn’t help but occasionally shiver. He also took the time to make a show of transferring his revolver from one pocket to the other, a stylish ivory-handled little gun that functioned as a solid reminder of the consequences of broken promises.

Scout saw the perfect time to interrupt, both for the sake of a quick escape and because he couldn’t stand to stay around the obnoxious Frenchie for another minute. “Hey, ya wanna get outta here?” He tugged on Medic’s sleeve, clearly aiming for an exit strategy. In the meantime Sniper cast him a look of pity and solidarity, which Scout returned with a sideways glance. “No point hangin’ around these two idiots any longer.”

"Very vell." Medic finally zipped up his pants, drawing his belt tighter around his waist. Even outside the battlefield he cut an imposing figure, standing tall with his lab coat perfectly tailored and at least one weapon strapped to his belt, and his post-lovemaking dishevelment barely detracted from the effect. If anything, his tousled hair lent him a more jaunty air than usual, deceptively stylish in a way that Spy briefly envied.  
Sniper conferred with Spy, offering a shrug and receiving an eye roll in return. “Let zem go. We ‘ave what we need.” And by that, Spy meant an intact number of limbs, since any encounter with Medic that did not end in physical harm was technically a success.

"Los geht’s." Medic caught Scout by the arm and escaped through the open kitchen door, striding across the carpet towards the nearest common room entrance. When his efforts to try the door handle ended in vain, he knelt and carefully undid the latch, negating all Spy’s efforts to keep it locked from the interior.

Sniper watched the procedure, shrugged, and sauntered out.

As soon as Medic had vanished into the corridor with Scout by his side, a noisy crash and the sound of splintering wood drew the pair’s attention again. Further inspection revealed that Soldier stood triumphant in another newly opened doorway. A raccoon persistently gnawed on the lapel of his coat, and he clutched an axe in one hand, mud-caked boots leaving unsightly footprints on the formerly clean carpet. He greeted the four mercs with a merry shout, stepping aside to reveal a stack of crates filled with soup cans. “We’re _baaack_ , boys!”

Medic just stared.

Undeterred, Soldier strode into the room, tossing his axe aside onto the couch. It landed with a thud and lodged itself in the wall instead. “Must be something wrong with those doors, we couldn’t open a single one! But we got what we needed. All two hundred cans of emergency fodder!”

Upon further inspection, the stack of crates was moving forward of its own volition, mounted on a platform with small legs that plodded forward continually. Engineer was overseeing its progress, hard hat pulled down over his eyes; he wore a sour frown that indicated his regret towards this entire expedition. Pyro took up the rear, trotting along and occasionally mumbling unintelligible commentary to Engineer. Demoman was nowhere to be found — either he’d gotten lost at a bar, or had enough sense to abandon the marauding party. Probably both.

Sniper was the first to comment, once his look of dazed confusion wore off. “Soldier, mate, what’s this all for?”

"The apocalypse, of course! It’s coming! One day we won’t be able to fight back those robots anymore, and _then what_?” Soldier gestured grandly to the crates. “Then we throw _soup cans_ at ‘em! _Nothing_ slows robots down more than soup!”

Medic continued to stare.

As the platform slowly scuttled forward into the kitchen, Soldier went to retrieve his ax, wrenching it from the formerly intact wall. Finally noticing the damage, he licked his finger and rubbed the dented area, as though that might possibly help. That failing, he pulled down a nearby scrap of fabric and tacked it over the spot with a bottle of unidentified (and disgusting) adhesive he carried in his pocket. “See? You won’t notice a thing!”

Scout considered pointing out the small pile of rubble that had collected on the floor, but thought better of it. Soldier would have drowned out his complaint anyway.

"So, boys, what’d I miss?"

Scout glanced to Medic and back, fidgeting with his hand wraps. Medic put on his best impression of calm stoicism, as did Sniper, though with a touch more discomfort. Spy just reverted to his usual smug expression, inscrutable behind the mask.

No one cared to immediately answer.

Eventually Scout spoke up. “We, uh, we went an’ played baseball.” He glanced askance at Medic. “I even got ta home base.”

"Good! The old American pastime." Soldier shoved the crates of cans into the pantry, almost trampling Engineer and his PDA in the process. "Keep those doors open, boys, we’ve got another load incoming!"

By the time Soldier came back, burdened with another batch of crates and a new set of ideas about robots and soup, the unlucky mercs had dispersed. Sniper was halfway down the corridor and retreating at full speed, Spy had gone invisible and was nowhere to be found, and Scout and Medic had escaped to a different part of the building, deciding to address some unfinished business.

What the others didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.


End file.
